Crying over spilled salt

This morning I broke a lid for a marble salt cellar that I’ve been hauling around for eight years. It's from Target. It’s not special, but I loved it. I realized after I stopped crying that it has been a symbol of a dream I have: a home that I can surround with fruit trees, to plant some literal roots.

I think that’s a dream a lot of people have. My childhood was quite unstable and we moved around constantly. My whole life I have struggled to find a place that felt like home, that felt like I belonged.

Bamidele reminded me I get this way when I’m tired. So I cried more and then admitted it’s true. It’s so awful when our loved ones gently tell us the truth. 

I’m great at starting stuff and I’m also pretty great at finishing stuff, but the middle part where you are operating on faith and building discipline and habits is really challenging for me. I know we have the fuel for the adventure ahead, so I need not be faint of heart. But sometimes my faith in a brave and joyful adventure, in a life of creativity, falters.

And I was really sad about the salt cellar.

After I had a little rest, I could see that I won the lottery already, even if we don’t have my dream home surrounded by fruit trees. We have a lovely little rental, surrounded by elegant vines, bananas and papaya. In a way I’m already living my dream, but I won’t notice the magic unless I…notice. I love my little family and our miraculous life in Mexico and the version of me that’s taking the risk to figure out how to do something I love. I really love her.

I’m going to get myself another little marble salt cellar for $20 which I effortlessly found online after I put myself back together. And I’m going to use the salt well that is still perfectly functional for something else and celebrate this sweet beautiful life I am in the process of making.

I don’t really have a point other than sometimes we already have our dream life, it’s just a matter of noticing. Of perspective. (See - it’s an art reference. I’m still on brand.)